Chapter 3 Destructive Strike

Poverty and the quagmire of her dysfunctional family had long pushed Celeste's sanity to the edge of a cliff.

No matter how dangerous the outside world was, no matter how creepy the asylum might be, those unknown fears were nothing compared to what Celeste was going through now—this despair of seeing her entire future laid out before her, slowly being drained to death.

That twenty thousand dollars was the ransom to buy back her own life.

It was the only knife Celeste had to cut the noose called "family" that was strangling her.

Celeste pulled out her secondhand phone with its cracked screen and checked the time.

1:45 AM.

Her inbox was still empty, with no notification of any new emails.

Celeste's heart pounded heavily in her chest, and cold sweat seeped from her palms from gripping too hard.

"Please," Celeste closed her eyes in the darkness, mumbling to the empty air, her voice carrying an obsession and fervor that even scared her.

"Please accept me... I don't care if it's hell or an asylum, just let me go."

Five whole days. No phone call, no text message.

That private psychiatric hospital for severe cases, built deep in Nightthicket on the outskirts of town, was like a ghost that didn't even exist.

If she hadn't watched Scarlett press the submit button that day with her own eyes, Celeste would have thought that job posting was just a hallucination born from moldy air.

These five days, Celeste had been practically trapped to death in this leaking trailer.

"How much longer are you gonna lie around on that broken couch? Celeste, does money grow on trees?"

The particle board walls couldn't block out Quinn's shrill voice, followed by the harsh clatter of a frying pan being thrown into the sink.

Quinn wore a faded old nightgown, a half-smoked cheap cigarette between her fingers, ash about to fall onto the grease-stained counter.

"The diner on South Highway is hiring a dishwasher, seven bucks an hour. You'd better go get that job this afternoon. If we can't pay next month's rent, that fat guy's gonna throw us and all our stuff right out onto the highway!"

Celeste stared at the mud stains on her shoe tips and said nothing.

Seven dollars an hour. She'd have to stand in a stinking kitchen for ten hours, her hands peeling from dish soap.

All Celeste could think about was those twenty thousand dollars.

As soon as the acceptance email came through, she could slap that check on the table and walk away without looking back.

"Are you even listening to me?" Quinn walked over and shoved Celeste hard.

"I got it, I'll go this afternoon." Celeste grabbed her coat from behind the door and pushed open the metal door.

The cold wind cleared her head a bit.

Scarlett was already waiting for her under the dead oak tree outside the trailer park.

Scarlett wore an oversized black hoodie, the hood pulled low, anxiously biting her nails.

"Still nothing." As soon as Celeste approached, Scarlett spoke up. "My crappy phone might not get system texts. We need to go to the library to check our email."

"But Harper..." Thinking of that nasty librarian made Celeste's stomach tighten.

After kicking them out that day, Harper had warned them not to set foot in the library for the whole week.

"I've been watching her for three days." Scarlett lowered her voice. "Every day at 12:15 PM, she goes to the back alley to smoke and eat her tuna sandwich. She comes back at 12:25. We've got ten minutes."

At 12:14, they hid behind an abandoned newsstand across the street.

Right at 12:15, Harper pushed through the glass door, carrying a paper bag and slowly walking toward the side alley.

"Go!" Scarlett grabbed Celeste, and they dashed across the asphalt road.

Slipping into the empty library, the air still had that smell of moldy old paper.

Scarlett rushed to the two old computers in the corner and hit the power button.

The machine let out a dull roar, the screen flickered a few times, and finally lit up.

Celeste pulled out a chair, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the mouse.

"Come on, this piece of junk..." Scarlett frantically pounded the keyboard, entering her username and password.

Celeste forced herself to type in her information too and hit enter.

The webpage started loading.

The internet was painfully slow, the blue progress bar inching forward.

12:20.

"Please, please..." Scarlett stared at the screen, sweat covering her forehead.

Suddenly, Scarlett's screen flashed, and the page jumped.

An unread email with a bold red subject line sat at the top of the inbox.

The sender was garbled characters, but the subject was clear: [Blackthorn Asylum - Employment Notice].

Scarlett gasped and clicked open the email.

"Oh my God..." Scarlett covered her mouth, her eyes instantly welling up.

Celeste leaned over to look.

[Ms. Scarlett Lewis, congratulations on passing the initial screening. Please bring valid personal identification and arrive at the abandoned gas station at the Nightthicket Highway intersection at exactly 6:00 AM tomorrow. A special vehicle will transport you to the facility. Note: Do not bring any communication devices.]

"I got in! Celeste, I got in!"

Scarlett threw her arms around Celeste's neck, trembling with excitement.

"Twenty thousand dollars! I'm getting out of this hellhole! I never have to see that drunk stepfather's face again!"

If Scarlett got in, then Celeste must have too...

Celeste whipped her head around to look at her own screen.

The progress bar had just reached the end, and the webpage was refreshing.

Same garbled sender email.

Celeste clicked the mouse.

Just one line.

[Ms. Celeste Phillips, we regret to inform you that you did not pass the initial screening. Thank you for your application.]

Celeste froze in her chair.

Staring hard at those black words on the screen, trying to find some trace of a mistake.

Didn't pass?

How was that possible?

They'd filled out the forms together, taken photos together, even clicked "agree" on the liability waiver together.

Why was Scarlett accepted? Why wasn't Celeste accepted?

"Celeste, did you get..." Scarlett turned around, but before she could finish, she saw the words on Celeste's screen.

The wild joy on Scarlett's face froze. She opened her mouth but couldn't speak.

The crushing disappointment made it hard for Celeste to breathe.

Scarlett had gotten her ticket out. Tomorrow morning, she'd get on that bus and leave.

And Celeste was left behind.

Forever trapped in a leaking trailer, trapped in her mother's curses and the grease of highway diners, until she rotted away in cheap cigarettes just like all those numb middle-aged women in town.

"Celeste, maybe... maybe it's a system error. We could send another email and ask..." Scarlett carefully reached out, trying to touch Celeste's shoulder.

Just then, the sound of high heels clicking on the floor came from outside the hall.

Harper had come back early.

"Damn it!" Scarlett's face changed. She yanked out the power cord, and the screen went black instantly.

"Who's back there? I heard the keyboard!" Harper's raspy voice carried in.

"Let's go!" Scarlett grabbed Celeste's arm and dragged her toward the side fire exit.

Celeste let Scarlett pull her along, pushing through the fire door into the back alley.

They ran through the narrow alley full of garbage and puddles, not stopping until they'd gone three blocks.

They stopped by a deserted stretch of highway, next to a weed-filled vacant lot, with Nightthicket in the distance under an overcast sky.

Scarlett leaned against a rusty chain-link fence, gasping for breath.

She looked at Celeste, her eyes showing sympathy and guilt, but more than anything, a barely concealed feverish anticipation for tomorrow.

"Celeste..." Scarlett called her name, but didn't continue.

Celeste slowly crouched down, burying her face in her arms.

She didn't cry out loud, just her shoulders shaking.

It was over.

Scarlett's new life would begin tomorrow morning.

Was Celeste really going to be left behind here for good, on this gloomy Tuesday afternoon?